09/21/2024
SAINT BRENDAN’S PROPHECY
Saint Senan.
Brendan, holy Brendan of the blessed beard; I have
heard it said among pious men, that thy guardian angel comes to visit thee.
That angel to be thy guardian must belong to the highest choir to whom is given the gift of revelation.
Brendan, holy Brendan of the blessed beard! therefore ceases my wonder at thy power of prophecy.
Tell me, for I doubt not to thee it is known, what weight of evils hang over this land!
Saint Brendan.
Changes sad and alteration
Will befall this sinful nation.
Alas! I weep that my prediction
Is a true one, and no fiction!
Saint Senan.
Bredan, holy Brendan of the blessed beard, I ask
thee to enlighten the darkness of my mind by thy
Heavenly wisdom!---
Saint Brendan.
Senan, know the consolation
Of an Angel’s conversation,
To thy midnight vigils given,
Is the precious gift of Heaven.
Saint Senan.
Brendan, holy Brendan of the blessed beard, I ask of
thee to reveal the future to my sight!---
Saint Brendan.
Senan, pious Senan, dear,
The end of ages is drawing near;
As the world grows withered and old,
Charity will grow icy cold,
Love and friendship will be strangers.
Between clansmen strife and danger;
Judges will from Justice falter,
Bishops careless of their altar;
Barley-cakes and water-cresses
Our food, will change for gross excesses,
And, while pond’rous dishes carving,
Leave the poor and aged starving.
Pious men must pray on mountains,
Or beside secluded fountains;
Pale-faced abstinence and watches
Will be changed for paint and patches;
Abbots from their vows defaulting,
Monks in darkness blindly halting;
Priests, like grease-pots flat and burly,
Will preach errors loud and surly;
Laymen, pulpits will ascend,
And there false novelties defend;
Theft, they’ll say, pride and sedition,
Are less sins than superstition;
Heaven they will grant to all,
Who in their new readings fall!
Three Peers of the Dalcassian line
Will usurp this glebe of mine;
Then, alas! Comes my undoing,
Then my houses sink to ruin.
For the reign of twenty kings
Error soars on eagle wings;
In the course of this confusion,
Truth they’ll call a vain illusion,
‘Till a prince of Brian’s race
Shall set justice in her place;
When that prince ascends the throne,
Then my monks shall have their own.
A Dalcassian, and no other,
Both by father and by mother,
Then shall rule for forty winters,
From the time that he first enters;
Lands and tythes, impropriation,
He will change throughout the nation;
And religion’s pristine form
Shall give peace and calm the storm.
